A Vague Ambition
by sydnisan
Summary: Grantaire, after months of pining over the handsome revolutionary leader, Enjolras, finally decides to act on his feeling. Enjolras, however, remains firm and does not betray any emotion towards Grantaire... at first. Slowly, Enjolras' eyes are opened to a whole new world, and Grantaire finally learns how to believe. But love is never smooth sailing...
1. Chapter 1

"Apollo," Grantaire slurred to the darkness around him, "I have always longed for this night." There was no reply, yet Grantaire stretched his arms out, as though there was somebody in front of him. He made to caress the cheeks of this invisible person, but his hand clutched only at the emptiness surrounding him. "Apollo?" Grantaire sounded frantic now, the drunken slur having been replaced by sober panic. "Where have you gone?" A tear was released from his bloodshot eyes as he realised that there had never been anybody there. "And there never will be," he whispered sadly.

When the meetings at Cafe Musain had begun, Grantaire had only gone along for the free booze. He cared not for revolution or fighting, or anything for that matter. Why should he? All paths lead to death in the end. One might as well enjoy the time given to them rather than waste it by fighting for a new world.

Despite his drunkenness, he remembered that wonderful night when Enjolras had first spoken, when he first heard that angelic voice, ringing out like that of angels on high. Grantaire had been near unconsciousness when a voice from the heavens had lifted him out of his intoxicated slumber. It turned out that this voice was the passionate speech of Enjolras, who was busy lecturing the people about something (Grantaire hadn't bothered to listen to what he was actually saying; he cared only for the sound of Enjolras' melodic voice). Upon looking up, Grantaire beheld a god; the human incarnation of Apollo himself. This man, whose tousled blonde hair shone in the dim candlelight, had the ability to lead; not only to lead, but to change the world. For the rest of the night, Grantaire listened in wonder and awe.

It had started as admiration, nothing more, but as the months wore on, Grantaire found himself wandering what was beneath that majestic red jacket, and what it would be like to sweetly kiss those lips. At first, Grantaire tried to deny that he was in love. It was wrong, it was strange, he told himself, but what was the point in telling himself that, when he knew it wasn't true? There was nothing wrong or strange about loving Enjolras; it was impossible not to adore that being as soon as one beheld him. Then he told himself that it would never happen. Enjolras hated him; he thought of him as a drunken nuisance, yet the adoration only grew.

On this warm May night, Grantaire was drunk, as usual. He had, in fact, intended to stay sober that night in order to prove to Enjolras that he was worth something, that he was more than just the cynic who always sat in the corner of the cafe. After Enjolras had accused him of believe in nothing, it all became too much, and he found himself reaching for the bottle of absinthe beside him. "I believe in you!" Grantaire had said desperately. Enjolras did not believe him.

Grantaire lay huddled up in his bed, shaking with sobs as he began to understand that Enjolras would never accept him. It was the most painful thing in the world to be hated by the one you love most. Just as sleep was about to come for him, and carry away from his depression for a few hours, something in Grantaire snapped. Enjolras would never love him, he knew that, but he also knew that they were all going to die at those god-damn barricades, so why should he not make the most of his life before he died with his Apollo?

Throwing on his threadbare coat, Grantaire left his apartment, the stench of alcohol still of his breath. He was going to tell Enjolras how he really felt, and that required drink, and lots of it.

"What is it?" Enjolras said exhasperatedly with raised eyebrows when he found Grantaire in the doorway at one in the morning.

"I... I..." Grantaire's throat felt dry as he tried to say the words. He raised the bottle to his lips for confidence, but found that when he opened his cracked lips, the bottle was gone. Enjolras was angrily holding it.

"Whatever you need to say, you can say it without the help of wine, or whatever devilish concoction this is." Grantaire looked at Enjolras pleadingly, but found no sympathy.

"I love you, Apollo!" He almost shouting. His voice was desperate, hopeless, and yet so full of love and adoration that it would have made an angel weep, but Enjolras' marble heart did not swell or stir.

"Drink makes you behave like a fool, Grantaire. I am sick and tired of your mocking and your cynical behaviour." Enjolras cried angrily. The bottle smashed in his hand, causing ruby red blood to dribble down his hand and land on the floor. Shards of dirty glass were lodged in his feminine hands. Grantaire hesitantly took Enjolras' hand and brought it to his lips, giving it a soft and innocent kiss. Enjolras looked at him sternly, as if to say: _Grantaire, you are acting like a fool. Go, go now, before you embarrass yourself any further. _Grantaire knew he should have listened to that silent advice, but instead of leaving, he found himself pressing his lips against Enjolras' He barely had time to savour the beautiful feeling of Enjolras' lips before rough hands shoved him furiously away. "Get out! And don't bother coming to the Cafe again! You have gone too far this time!"

"But, Apollo, I love you. I do!" Grantaire protested tearfully. Why had he not remained sober? Enjolras would have taken him seriously if he had.

"Stop calling me that! My name is Enjolras." Enjolras muttered as he stalked furiously back into his home.

"Whatever it takes to please you, Enjolras," Grantaire said sadly, walking away in a dejected manner. Enjolras paused for a moment, but then decidedly slammed his door.

The next night, Enjolras was on his way to the Cafe. His normally perfect hair was soaked with rain, yet his eyes were ablaze with a warm, cracking fire — the fire of rebellion. He looked up with all the determination of the born leader he was, and started making plans and noble plots in his remarkable head. He would do anything to get the peculiar events of last night out of his mind.

Suddenly, a hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed his arm. Enjolras, acting purely on instine, swung his fist wildly and connected with the "attacker's" stubbled jaw.

"Crap!" Yelled a familiar, but unwelcome voice.


	2. Chapter 2

Grantaire was hunched over in the darkness with a hand covering his bloodied nose.

"Oh my God! Grantaire, I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" Enjolras dug in his pocket to find a handkerchief with which to staunch the blood. "Let me take you to a doctor, or at least let Joly have a look at it," he said, extending a hand. Grantaire shook his head.

"No, I would rather just be with you." He looked up through heavy lashes with an unsure smile.

"Oh for the love of Patria!" Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Will you give it a rest? Do you even remember what you did last night in your drunken state?" Grantaire blushed.

"Vaguely, and I don't regret it," he said quietly, biting his lip. Enjolras' brows were knitted together in confusion.

"You... You're... You are sober..." He seemed unable to process this.

"I know, and it has given me the most awful headache; I do not know how you people cope without a drink." Grantaire took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come. "But, Enjolras, I realised it was the only way to get you to take me seriously, to believe me, when I say..."

"Say what? Spit it out, Grantaire." He had tried his best to sound strong and unmoved, but his voice betrayed a pathetic, unsure quality.

"...When I say that I love you," Grantaire finished. There was a heavy silence that neither seemed willing to break. Slowly taking a step forward, he placed a hand on Enjolras' clean shaven cheek. Enjolras was as still as a statue; in fact, it was difficult to tell if he was breathing at all. Grantaire leanaed in closer until he was close enough to smell Enjolras' minty breath, to feel the warmth radiating off of his chiselled body.

"I can't do this," Enjolras said, ducking away from Grantaire and running towards the cafe, not once looking back.

Grantaire was left alone, leaning dejectedly against the wall, and longing for a drink. Things were less painful when one had a full bottle for company.

After a good half hour, he skulked miserably home, trying to ignore the sounds of loud chattering coming from the back room of the cafe. Most of all, he was trying to ignore the sound of a clear, raw voice that rose above all the others, delivering a rousing speech about overthrowing the monarchy. It was the voice of Enjolras.

Yet another night was spent with Grantaire tucked up in bed, shivering and sobbing underneath his unwashed quilt. What had made him think things would be different now? What madness had posessed him and made him do such a stupid thing? Things had been fine as they were, and now Grantaire had gone and messed it all up. Why had he done that? Maybe Enjolras was right, maybe he wasn't good for anything. Of course, he could not blame Enjolras for his harsh rejection. Enjolras was a god, descended from the heavens, whereas Grantaire was simply a mediocre mortal, more concerned with alcohol than anarchy. Grantaire knew that he would never be loved by Enjolras, but he still resolved to always be there for him. Even in Enjolras' darkest hour, Grantaire would be there for him.

When the sun rises, it often brings with it new hope and faith, and this is exactly what Grantaire found upon awakening. Suddenly, the misery of last night had vanished, and in its place was a burning desire to prove that he was worthy, to show not just Enjolras, but everybody, that he was more than a drunk. If becoming a new, better person was what it took to win Enjolras over, then that was exactly what he would do. His first step was to visit Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac opened the door with a bright smile, as was his customary greeting.

"Grantaire! Good morning. What brings you here?" He asked as he took Grantaire's frayed coat and hung it gingerly upon a coat stand.

"I need help." Courfeyrac led him to a table and sat him down.

"Help with what? If it's money, I have a few francs in my pocket." He dug inside his pocket, but Grantaire shook his head rather gloomily.

"No, it is not money. I have a problem, a big problem. You see..." Grantaire hesitated, wondering if he should tell Courfeyrac. Courfeyrac might not be comfortable with it, and if he was not comfortable with it, he may not help Grantaire reinvent himself. He decided to try and be as mysterious as possible about who his love was directed towards. "There's a certain person, but this person sees me as nothing more than a drunken cynic. To tell the truth, they are right, I am nothing more than that. Until recently, I did not think I had sufficient emotion and belief to even love another human being. Anyway, I need to find a way to make them see me as more than that, and that is where you come in."

"So," said Courfeyrac slowly, "you want me to help you reinvent yourself?"

"Precisely." Grantaire nodded. Courfeyrac stood up and took Grantaire's hand.

"Come with me," he said, "I have an idea." Grantaire allowed himself to be dragged out of Courfeyrac's home and into the grimy streets of Paris. They journeyed at a very fast pace, reaching their destination in just under twenty minutes.

"Where are we?" Grantaire asked, doubled over and panting.

"A clothes shop. We'll get you some nice clothes, befitting of a gentleman, and then we shall go back to yours and get rid of all the wine you have stashed around your home." Grantaire drew back in surprise and horror.

"What? Get rid of my drink?" He was on the brink of renouncing the whole idea, and just crawling back into bed to waste away the rest of his existence, when he thought once more of Enjolras. Enjolras was the only person he believed in, the only person worth believing in. He was everything that Grantaire wanted to be, and more. Enjolras did not just have a beautiful face; he had a beautiful soul. "Very well."


	3. Chapter 3

An hour later, an almost unrecognizable man left the shop. He wore a hat, a clean, neat coat, and polished shoes. This man was Grantaire, as unbelievable as that may seem. He looked like the kind of person that anybody would be happy to associate with. He was not so richly dressed as to be called a dandy, and he had not the air of a bourgeouis, but he was far from looking poor or coarse. In short, he had the appearance of a new man, but inside, he was still the same cynical being that he had always been.

"Well, Courfeyrac, what do you think?" Courfeyrac assessed his new appearance quickly.

"It suits you. Your little lady will be quite pleased with your new clothes, I think." Grantaire grimaced when Courfeyrac said "little lady". Enjolras was anything but that. He cleared his throat awkwardly and began the walk home, dreading the fact that he would have to dispose of his precious alcohol in a matter of minutes.

"Shall we begin?" Asked Courfeyrac. Grantaire shrugged dejectedly and ambled towards the bottle of whiskey that stood alone on his desk.

"I suppose we shall have to," said he, emptying the bottle out of the window.

"So, who is this certain someone, if I may ask? Do I know them?"

"Yes, I- I suppose you could say that," he stuttered nervously, "but that is all I shall say." Grantaire was resolute in this decision; Courfeyrac got not one word more from him on the subject of his would-be lover, that is, until Enjolras knocked on the door later that evening.

Courfeyrac opened the door. His dark hair was wild in appearance, for he had been busy all day and hadn't had the time to comb his hair.

"Ah, Courfeyrac, what brings you to 'Taire's home?" Asked Enjolras casually whilst his penetrating glance surveyed the room, looking for Grantaire. Grantaire, however, was behind the door, trying desperately to untwist the metaphorical knot in his stomach. Enjolras was here, at Grantaire's house! It was hard for him to believe. Enjolras had knocked on his door.

"I am helping him to clear his house in order to please his sweetheart," replied Courfeyrac. Quickly, before Courfeyrac could say anything furthur, Grantaire stepped into sight and welcomed Enjolras in. "Grantaire, I think I had better leave now. I need to be home before it gets dark." Grantaire gave a nod and continued to lead Enjolras into his home. Upon shutting the door, Enjolras immediately began to speak.

"I have come here to apologize." Nothing could have shocked Grantaire more. The words 'Enjolras' and 'apologize' did not fit in the same sentence, and yet here he was, asking Grantaire for forgiveness.

"Apologize for what?" Grantaire asked incredulously. Enjolras had done nothing wrong, nothing at all.

"I was unkind to you the other day, and, well, I should not have been. I understand that it must have taken a great deal of courage to confess... that. However, that is not the only reason I am here," continued Enjolras. Grantaire looked up at him hopefully, as a puppy would look at his owner.

"It is not?" He breathed. Enjolras pursed his lips.

"I have also come to tell you that this, us, cannot happen. I am devoted to my cause, and I cannot afford to let anything distract me. Patria is my one and only mistress, and that is the way it must be. I'm sorry," he said decisively. For the duration of his speech, he had been unable to look into the adoring eyes of Grantaire. Finally summoning the courage to look into those eyes, now crushed and disappointed, Enjolras saw tears brimming. They did not fall; Grantaire would not subject Enjolras to the awkwardness of seeing him cry. Unsure of what to do, Enjolras stood motionless for many minutes. Eventually, he spoke. "I must leave, Grantaire. Once again, I'm sorry." Without waiting for a reply, he strode towards the door, feeling more guilty than he had ever felt in his entire life.

"No!" Came Grantaire's strangled plea. "Please, do not leave me, not yet. Will you not stay with me for a few more minutes?" Enjolras hesitated. It would probably do more harm than good to stay there any longer, yet he felt unable to walk out of that decrepit door and leave his friend.

"A few more minutes." He walked mechanically towards a chair and sat down. Grantaire followed. He waited for Enjolras to speak, to move, to do something, but Enjolras did nothing.

"I understand why you are revolted by me-"

"No," Enjolras cut in, "I am not revolted by you. I just need to focus on the revolution."

"It is okay if you do hate me, a lot of people do, and you, you are a god, a divine being, what reason would you have to like me?" Grantaire laughed almost bitterly.

"A god? No, Grantaire, you are mistaken. I am nothing but a human, an imperfect, very flawed human." Grantaire raised his eyebrows disbelievingly, but said nothing, not wishing to argue with his beloved. "I do not understand what you see in me." At this, Grantaire had to say something.

"You do not understand?" He cried. "How could I not adore you? I believe in you. I can see in your eyes that you are meant for great things. In your mind there is determination, and you have such an air of certainty..." Grantaire said no more, for he found that Enjolras' lips were pressed against his own once more.


	4. Chapter 4

For one glorious moment, a moment that Grantaire would treasure for the rest of his days, they kissed passionately and whole-heartedly, as if it was their last chance to ever do so. Then Enjolras broke away. He wore the most blatant and almost amusing look of shock on his marble face. His eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets; his mouth hung open, revealing his pearly teeth. Eventually, he collected his thoughts.

"I should not have done that. I have made things even more difficult and confusing for both you and myself-" He was interrupted by Grantaire.

"But Enjolras-"

"No!" exclaimed Enjolras. "No buts! I cannot allow my resolution to falter. Do you not see, Grantaire, that if my resolution falters, my revolution falters too? I am not ready for this. I have a duty to France."

"You also have a duty to yourself, a duty to be happy, to live your life to the full before it's all over!" Grantaire cried out heatedly, desperation taking hold as he grasped Enjolras' shoulders.

"You just don't seem to understand, do you?" Enjolras was growing angry, a sight which was both terrible and mesmerizing. "Our little lives don't count at all! I have no duty to myself, for in the grand scheme of things, I am nothing. You are nothing. None of us are anything. My job is to free France from tyranny, not to fool around with you or anybody else!"

"No, you are right, I don't understand. I don't understand why I can't be with you if, for some insane reason, you reciprocate my feelings. Why can you not fight for Patria and love me at the same time?" Enjolras shook his head with both sadness and fury.

"This," he said decidedly, "never happened. I think it would be easier for the both of us if we forget this night." Grantaire cast his eyes down to the floor and murmured, "if you wish it, I will never speak of tonight to you or anybody else, but I could never, not even if I tried for a thousand years, forget this night."

"So be it." Enjolras stood. He willed himself not to look back, fearing that if he did, he would rush back to Grantaire's side with tears of regret streaming down his eyes and swear never to leave him again. Leaving that room was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

The door closed with a heartless, almost mocking, click. That was it then, Enjolras was gone and likely never to return. Automatically, Grantaire reached to wipe his eyes and found that, to his utmost surprise, they were as dry as a desert. He had cried all his tears; he was just an empty shell.

"What is left for me?" he muttered harshly. With a defeated sigh, he left his apartment just in time to see the angelic form of Enjolras turning a corner. "He is gone." Grantaire rushed out of his door, not even taking the time to realise that the night was bitingly cold and he wasn't even wearing a coat. "Enjolras!" He shouted. "Come back!" His voice cracked. "Come back." Nothing more than a whisper escaped his throat.

Ten minutes later, he stood on a bridge overlooking the Seine. The streetlamps were misty in the river and the trees were full of the most beautiful yet gloomy starlight. What was there left to live for now that Enjolras had gone? As he meditated about the events of the last few days, he had an epiphany of sorts. Life meant nothing if one had nothing to believe in. For the first time since infancy, Grantaire no longer felt the need for drink. He had wondered why for many minutes. The answer was simple. There had been a hole in his very soul for years – that hole was the absence of belief. He had tried in vain to fill it with brandy and whiskey and scotch, but now he had filled it with Enjolras. He should have been content. But no, for the moment he had finally sewed up the first hole in his soul, another appeared. This time, it was the absence of love. How could one reclaim one's lost love if that person had made it clear they did not want to be together? It was impossible. Grantaire had tried everything and nothing had worked, so what was he supposed to do? This hole was too big for drink to fill. Perhaps it would be better to just end it all, to plunge himself into the icy water and journey into the nothingness that awaited him. It wouldn't hurt; it would be easy, painless. Hoisting himself onto the railing, he paused.

"Don't do this." The voice came from the very back of his mind, crying out desperately. Grantaire shook his head, mentally and physically preparing himself for the sharp cold of the water. "Grantaire, don't." On the count of three. One. Two... Three.

Hands, which dug deeper into his flesh than talons, grabbed him and reeled him back.

"You foolish, mad, crazy, moron!" Grantaire was still in shock. He found it difficult to place the voice. The next thing he knew, he had been enveloped in a loving embrace. "Do not ever even think about doing that again!" Grantaire pulled back from the hug to see who his saviour was. Enjolras stared back at him tearfully. "I love you," said he.


	5. Chapter 5

"I... I... I love you." Enjolras stuttered as if he could not quite believe what he was saying. The two looked at each other in silenced shock, neither daring to speak nor breath. Grantaire feared that if he even dared to move for one second, Enjolras would retract what he said. "Yes, yes, I do," Enjolras continued, his voice gaining in strength and confidence.

"And I you," Grantaire breathed, his hands shaking uncontrollably, "but, of course, you already knew that." Enjolras' eyes looked Grantaire right in the face with devotion. Beneath the deep blue, Grantaire spotted carefully masked passion flickering wildly. He could hardly believe it. Everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever longed for, was finally happening. For the first time in his life, Grantaire's heart swelled with unblemished joy.

"You're cold," said Enjolras, feeling Grantaire's cheeks. They were freezing. Grantaire took Enjolras' hands in his own and whispered, "It does not matter." He beamed like a young child who had just been given a piece of cake.

"Look, we can't stay out here. It's too cold for that. Come back to mine." At this point, Grantaire gulped. Confusedly, Enjolras looked back at him, wondering where the sudden bout of nervousness had come from. Realisation dawned on him. "Oh... oh! Do not worry, I don't intend on there being any... shenanigans," he said awkwardly, taking Grantaire's hand and leading him through the jumbled maze of streets to his modest home, looking back every now and again to check that Grantaire hadn't somehow evaporated or disappeared.

Turning a corner, they came to a rather shoddy house. Paint peeled off the moist walls and Grantaire noted a multitude of birds roosting in the hole-riddled roof.

"It is not particularly grand," admitted Enjolras, "but it's home." He let himself in through the door which creaked and whined in protest.

"You are forgetting that I have been here before." They climbed the rickety staircase together. On the top floor, there were about five rooms branching off the corridor.

"Ah, so you have," he agreed, remembering the night that Grantaire had first confessed his love. He grimaced when he thought about how callously he had rejected him, convinced that he was playing a cruel prank. He fished around in his deep pockets for the key to his room and found a few sous and a battered old pocket-watch before finally coming into contact with the key. It clicked quietly in the door, making an eery sound in the silence that surrounded the two.

Enjolras' home was so different on the interior — it was almost like entering a whole new world. Grantaire, on giving the room an approving once-over, found that there was already a fire blazing in the fireplace. There was no paint or wallpaper on the walls, instead, dozens of propaganda posters, newspaper clippings, and drawings lined his walls. Every single one of these had one thing in common: the republic.

"Well, you certainly are dedicated," Grantaire commented, sounding a little more sarcastic than he had meant to. Enjolras shot him a warning look.

"Yes, I am dedicated. That's why I fended off your advances at first. I didn't want a relationship with anybody, no matter how much I loved the person, to come between Patria and I."

"What changed?"

"The realisation that I might lose you forever." He cleared his throat and hastily patted a raggedy sofa. "Please, take a seat." With obedience, Grantaire installed himself on the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable. "Are you hungry? I have bread, cheese, wine," he paused, "Actually, I think it would be best if you didn't have any wine. I have water though. I know that there isn't much, but it should serve to feed the both of us."

"That's fine," Grantaire said absent-mindedly. His thoughts were on other matters. He could not seem to fathom the fact that he had been invited into Enjolras' home and now he was there. He was there with Enjolras. Oh, how he had dreamed of this scenario, not that they were sitting around eating bread and cheese in his dreams... Grantaire swallowed and felt his cheeks redden slightly.

"Grantaire?" Enjolras waved a fair hand in front of him.

"I apologise. I started daydreaming," Grantaire stuttered, grabbing a piece of bread. Suddenly, he felt Enjolras touch his face.

"Well, you don't seem to be cold anymore. Would you... I mean, would you like to stay here tonight?" Enjolras averted his eyes. "It would be as I said earlier, you know, there wouldn't be any funny business, of course," he added quickly. Grantaire nodded.

An hour into the already late night, they were still sitting on the sofa, talking in low voices as the firelight glowed and cast shadows onto their faces. Grantaire fancied that in this dim lighting, Enjolras looked more like a God than he ever had before. His cheekbones were golden, but not as golden as his hair which seemed to radiate with the light of the sun. The right side of his nose, however, was ensconsed in mysterious shadow.

"Tell me, honestly, what you thought of me the first time we met," Enjolras said.

"Honestly? I thought you were a god walking among mortals and I still do. I heard you speak and I wondered at how such a strong, passionate voice came to be on this voice. At first it was just the sound of your voice that had me entranced, but then I listened to what you were saying, and, to tell the honest truth, I thought it was a load of rubbish, but the way you said it inspired people. It even made me want to stand and fight, though I believe in nothing but you. I said to myself, _there is one I could follow._" Grantaire caressed Enjolras' hand, not daring to touch his face for fear of damaging its perfection. "What was your opinion of me when we first met? Before you say it, I know that you did not think very highly of me, you may have even detested me, but I still wish to know."

"No," protested Enjolras, "I did not hate you. I never hated you. I have always found you an interesting person, although at times, I admit, I thought that you were trying and annoying. On our first meeting, I thought that you were a promising person. I thought that you were clever and witty and you were the only person in the room who really stood out." The fire popped and crackled as Enjolras slowly leaned into Grantaire, his hands on Grantaire's waist. Their lips met gently and they began to kiss. At first, they held back, uncertain and confused, neither of them having kissed for more than a few seconds before. The kiss went on for a very long time before Grantaire's tongue pressed against Enjolras' lips.

"I love you," Grantaire said as he parted in order to catch his breath.

"And I you." They leaned in to kiss again. The door opened a crack. Combeferre stood in the doorway.


	6. Chapter 6

Combeferre's face was frozen into a state of shock. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and his already large eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets.

"Combeferre!" Cried Enjolras, springing to his feet. His face was redder than a tomato as he stuttered, "look, we would, er... we, er... would appreciate it if you did not tell the others for the time being. I mean, um, there are a few things that Grantaire and I need to sort out first, you know, before we go public." Combeferre adjusted his glasses meekly and cleared his throat.

"Shall I come back tomorrow?" It's just, I have a letter from the society that meets in that old in a few roads away. They wanted to finalise some things."

"No, it is fine. I shall take it now, if that is quite alright with you." Enjolras held out his hand.

"Well, erm, yes that's," he paused to cough, "that's fine with me." Before Enjolras could reply, Combeferre had thrust the letter at him and scarpered.

"Poor 'Ferre," Grantaire said, "he must have felt so uncomfortable. I know I would have." With a sigh, Enjolras sat back down and nodded in agreement.

"Yes, although I felt quite embarrassed myself."

"What kind of stuff is it that we need to sort out then?" Asked Grantaire, suddenly changing the subject.

"Hm?" Enjolras questioned.

"You know, you told Combeferre that we need to sort some things out before the rest of the les amis find out." He nodded.

"Oh, that. There is nothing really that we need to sort out. I told Combeferre that because I do not want our relationship going public until after the revolution."

"Why not?"

"As I said earlier, I need to focus on Patria. I have already made that more difficult for myself by admitting my love for you, although I do not regret it one bit." He squeezed Grantaire's hand and smiled brightly. "However, devotion my attention to the insurrection would be almost impossible were the others to find out."

"I understand," Grantaire said. He leaned in for another kiss, but a loud moan coming from the apartment next to Enjolras' distracted the two. They heard a series of awkward noises. "Right, well, it's getting late. I had better go to sleep now," he said uncomfortably, trying to ignore the love-making that was going on next door.

"Me too. Night." Enjolras walked over to his bed. Just as he reached it, he paused and looked back at Grantaire, who was still shivering slightly. He was laying on the sofa with a thin blanket. Enjolras deliberated for a moment, and then walked back over to Grantaire and extended his hand. "Look, you can sleep in my bed tonight. No sex, just sleeping." Grantaire looked up at him with wide-eyes and smiled, as if it were a huge honour. Shakily, he stood up and took Enjolras' hand. Walking towards his bed in a trance. "Hey," said Enjolras, "why are you so shaky? Like I said, no sex."

"I know, it's just that everything I've ever dreamed about is happening. There have been so many times where I've envisioned us lying side by side, talking and thinking, and now it's coming true. I feel so lucky." Enjolras smiled and pulled back the covers, climbing into the warmth offered by his bed. Grantaire followed. He still could not quite believe what was happening.

The two lay there together with Grantaire's head resting on Enjolras' chest, and Enjolras' arm cradled Grantaire. The sounds from next door had stopped, much to Enjolras and Grantaire's relief. It was perfect. They lay there together for what seemed like forever, listening to the sound of each other's breathing, thinking deep thoughts reserved for beautiful, silent nights such as this one. Every now and then, one of them would say something which would garner a comment from the other, such as "hm" or "oh" or "I never thought about that" but for the most part, they were silent. It wasn't until very late that they both finally got to sleep.

Grantaire dreamed about Enjolras; nothing new there. In his dream, he was a member of the national guard and it was the day of the insurrection. Barricades surrounded him on every corner. Thousands of students with marble faces pointed guns at him. The sun beat down upon his with a reprimanding air.

"You have betrayed us," said Enjolras, a tear in his eye. The students, who had previously been made of marble were now human. They all looked to Enjolras. "I thought you were going to support us in this revolution, but you have joined the other side." Enjolras gestured to Grantaire's uniform and Grantaire looked down at it, feeling ashamed.

"I swear I'm not one of them! I would never betray you! I believe in you! I shall find a way to prove it to you! I will blacken your boots!" Enjolras shook his head sadly.

"I'm so done with this! Get away from my barricade, biatch!" he said, hands on hips.

Grantaire awoke, bathed in sweat and clinging to Enjolras, who was still sleeping. The memory of that dream refused to leave his head. His only comfort was that the rather strange ending made him certain that none of it ever happened.

"But what if it had," Grantaire whispered. He hugged Enjolras tighter, trying to forgot all of the horrible events of that dream. He had never believed in anything, but that hadn't stopped him from fearing things. Now, he only feared disappointing his beloved Enjolras.

"What is the matter?" Enjolras asked as he suddenly sat up. Grantaire swallowed and collapsed into him in silent tears. His shoulders shook. He convulsed with sobs, but still tried to hide his tear stained face from Enjolras.

"I had a nightmare. It was stupid, and it should not have upset me, but it was so real. I mean, it was real until the end, at which point it kind of went strange, but oh, Enjolras, it was awful." Enjolras held Grantaire comfortingly, waiting for him to calm down.

After he had regained his composure, Grantaire proceeded to tell Enjolras of all that had happened. Enjolras listened patiently.

"Grantaire," he said, facing Grantaire in a stern manner, "listen to me. I will always love you, no matter what. I know that you would never ever betray me like that, so there is no reason to fear that. I love you."

"And I love you too."

"Come, the sun is rising and we must be ready for a new day. We have a meeting at the Cafe tonight."


	7. Chapter 7

It was dark, but warm and comforting light was radiated from the windows of the Cafe. Enjolras and Grantaire walked casually towards it, not thinking about what would happen once they got inside. Enjolras walked in front, his confident stride was almost mesmerising to Grantaire. He swung the door open and walked in. Everything seemed to be completely normal: there was a candle on each table, as well as the gas lamps on the wall; the room was fairly populated; maps and propaganda posters were plastered around the room, and there was a bottle of wine wherever he looked. Yes, everything seemed normal.

"Enjolras," Grantaire whispered meekly, nudging his arm, "why is everybody staring?" That was when he realised that every single one of the Amis were looking straight at them in defeaning silence. Some looked shocked, some looked indifferent and some looked overjoyed.

Jehan broke the silence. "You two are adorable together! It is a match made by Aphrodite herself." His eyes sparkled as he beamed, his wavy brown hair falling into his face. "Such a beautiful couple. It must have been fate! You know, I had a feeling that there was something more than friendship between you, an unspoken attraction! I have written a poem in honour of your relationship — do you give me permission to read it?" Enjolras raised his hand to silence Jehan before turning to look at Combeferre.

"Combeferre, I thought I told you that it was a secret," he said accusingly. His eyes were cold with an angry, ice-like fire, but his cheeks were hot and flushed. Combeferre looked up from the colossal book he had been pretending to read. Guiltily, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Enjolras," he began, "Grantaire, I am so sorry. I only told Courfeyrac, I promise! After I," he cleared his throat, "interrupted the two of you, I stopped off at Courf's house to drop off the money I borrowed from him the other day. He invited me in for a cup of coffee and, I don't know how, but I ended up telling him everything." All eyes turned to Courfeyrac, but before he could defend himself, somebody sniggered more loudly than they had intended to.

"What is so funny, Bahorel?" Asked Enjolras sharply.

"I apologize, it's just... well... Combeferre's face when he said that he interrupted you..." He let loose a fresh peal of laughter. Bossuet, who was far less drunk than Bahorel, was forced to escort him out of the room. Again, everybody's eyes went back to Courfeyrac.

"I think Marius might have overheard Combeferre and I talking," Courfeyrac said. "Just to let you know, I think it is wonderful that you are together." Marius was sat at a table in the corner of the Cafe, completely oblivious to everything around him. He seemed to be carving the name 'Cosette' into the table with his pocket knife. "Marius!" Hissed Courfeyrac, causing Marius to jump and drop his knife.

"Yes?"

"Did you tell the others about Enjolras and Grantaire?" Marius thought for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, I think I did. Earlier I was telling everybody about Cosette and I was saying that you guys were in a great relationship, just like Cosette and I," he said innocently before bending over to pick up his pocket knife. "So," he carried on, "I found this brilliant new book about Napoleon. It has so much new information that I never knew!" Grantaire rolled his eyes; Enjolras grew angry.

"Marius, we are not here to talk about Napoleon Buonaparte or Cosette! We are here to talk about revolution, and the same goes for the rest of you," he said, turning around to face the others. "Yes, Grantaire and I are in love. However, I want to make this absolutely clear, this is not going to affect anything!" Most of the Amis smiled and Jehan even clapped and cheered, but there was one who was not smiling.

"How can you promise that it will not affect the revolution? We need to put France first, Enjolras," cried Feuilly. He was holding a fan in his hands, but that did not detract from his indignant expression.

"I know that France must come first, Feuilly. I will die for my cause; Grantaire will die for his cause; we will all fight for what we believe in, and we will all die for what we believe in. Me loving Grantaire has nothing to do with our fight for freedom!" He paused. Grantaire secretly disagreed with what he said — Grantaire would not die for his cause, seeing as he had no cause, but he would die for Enjolras. He knew that he would do anything for Enjolras, including kissing goodbye to his very existence. "Joly!" said Enjolras. Joly looked up from the mirror he was using to check his tongue. "You are in love with Musichetta, yes?" Joly nodded and coughed. "Has that changed anything?" This time he shook his head. "I love Patria," cried Enjolras passionately, "but I also love Grantaire!" And with that, Enjolras took Grantaire in his arms and kissed him, much to the surprise of the Amis. Grantaire fully welcomed the kiss, his arms wrapping around Enjolras' waist. He felt Enjolras' hands running through his messy dark hair. The kiss ended all too soon, and Grantaire and Enjolras were forced to part. "You see? It changes nothing."

After that, the meeting proceeded as all other meetings did, but this time the others were more subdued. At times their chatter rose to the normal volume, but after a few furtive glances at Enjolras or Grantaire, the volume would once more drop to a low mumble.

As Grantaire and Enjolras walked home, Enjolras was in a dismal mood.

"What is wrong, my love?" Asked Grantaire, entwining hands with Enjolras. Enjolras looked at him sadly.

"Our friends, they look upon us differently now. To them, with the exeption of Jehan, we are not like them. If their akwardness about the subject does not wear off, I fear the insurrection will fail before it even begins. I thought that the kiss would help, I really did, but I think it only served to make things worse." His voice, normally so strong and masculine, was cracked. It was unlike anything Grantaire had ever heard from Enjolras before. Enjolras sounded scared, helpless.

"Hush now, it will be alright. It will not fail, I promise," Grantaire said as he planted a sweet kiss on Enjolras' forehead.

"But how can you promise that?"

"I cannot promise that, but I can promise you this: even if nobody else stands beside you, I will always be beside you. You can be certain that I will stand with you." Enjolras smiled at Grantaire's comforting words and leaned in for a kiss, but before their lips could touch, Enjolras felt a blade against his marble throat.


	8. Chapter 8

"I would strongly suggest you refrain from making a sound... either of you," said a man's voice. Next, a knife was pressed against Grantaire's throat too. "Now, if you would be so kind as to comply with our orders, neither of you will be harmed." Grantaire was able to turn his head a fraction to see who had dared to threaten his Apollo and saw a total stranger standing by Enjolras. This man, dressed like a ridiculous dandy, had a pretty face, cherry-lips, glossy dark hair and the brightness of Springtime in his eyes. He seemed scarcely more than twenty.

After seeing this, Grantaire begun to wonder who it was that held a knife to his own neck.

"Who are you?" he asked with a frightened edge to his voice, wishing he could take a drink to calm his nerves. He was not frightened for himself, but for Enjolras who was breathing quickly with wide eyes. Though it only hurt him to imagine such things, Grantaire thought about how easy it would be for this assassin to slit Enjolras' throat and kill the single most wonderful man to ever walk the planet. The thought made him both scared and angry.

"Ha!" The man behind him scoffed. "What makes you think we'd tell you?" Grantaire percieved that there were two other men also behind him, shrouded in darkness.

"Oh come, let us humour them. It will not help them to find us if we see fit to let them go, will it?" the young man beside Enjolras said to the others with a smirk. Keeping his blade to Enjolras' throat, the man turned to Grantaire and said, "I am Montparnasse. This is Babet." He pointed to the man behind Grantaire, who Grantaire himself could not see. "And this is Claquesous, and this is Gueulemer. Together, we are known as Patron-Minette." Grantaire gulped. He had heard of Patron-Minette, after all, who in Paris had not? He had heard how they murdered without thought, never leaving behind evidence, never getting caught, terrorizing Paris as if it was their own deadly playground.

"So 'ow d'ya want to do this, 'Parnasse? We can do it right 'ere, but that'd be too risky. I say we drag 'em somewhere more remote and rob 'em there. We can dump the bodies down the Seine," said Babet with a gruff sort of voice. The word 'bodies' set off a panic alarm in Grantaire's brain. So they intended to murder Enjolras.

"Wait! No! Do not kill us! I mean, kill me, if you must, but spare Enjolras! Here, take my watch, take my clothes, take my shoes and my liquor, but for God's sake, spare Enjolras!" Grantaire rambled desperately, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks as undid his waistcoat with great difficulty, for the knife which held him in place was making it very hard, and flung it to the muddy ground. He did not even stop to see Enjolras' reaction to this sudden speech.

"Grantaire, don't you dare! I won't let you sacrifice yourself for my sake! I love you!" Enjolras cried, struggling against Montparnasse to no avail.

"Young love, how touching," said Montparnasse mockingly. He released Enjolras from the knife's metal embrace and circled him, trying to get a good look at his face. "I see why you like him," he said to Grantaire. "You have yourself a pretty young man here. It would be a shame to let such a handsome face go to waste, but still, it must be done." Montparnasse straightened his bow tie. "Let us bind there hands. Hurry, the police could happen upon us at any moment."

Grantaire felt the knife retract from his throat; if there was any chance of escape, the time was now. He felt a rough rope touching his wrists. He needed to save himself and Grantaire now, but how? How could he save himself and his love? There was no time to make a plan, no time to think ahead, he would just have to have faith, and try to believe that it would work. Taking a deep breath, he wrenched his hands away from Gueulemer, who was trying to tie his wrists together with rope. Gueulemer stood still, too shocked to say or do anything. Grantaire knew that he hadn't much time before the robbers would spring back into action, and yet he had no idea what to do next. He was without a weapon, and Enjolras was still held captive by Montparnasse.

"Grantaire, go! Don't you dare try to free me! Don't you dare! Run!" Enjolras shouted, struggling wildly against Montparnasse.

"Not without you! I cannot leave you at the mercy of these devils!" Grantaire replied, panicking as the other three closed in around him, armed with deadly weapons, ready to kill him and leave his body to rot.

"Dammit, Grantaire!" said Enjolras angrily. Grantaire looked around, wondering what to do. He felt so useless, and he wondered if it would be better to just give in, to let himself be robbed and murdered. It would be easier, and he knew his life was going to end at the ever approaching rebellion anyway.

"Enjolras," he whispered, thinking about his boyfriend. Suddenly, he felt renewed strength coursing through his veins, and he understood that no matter what, he had to save Enjolras. He looked around and tried to find a weapon, anything would do. But the only thing lying around on the floor was his waistcoat and his empty bottle of vodka. It would have to do. He made a dash for it and picked up the bottle. What he was going to do with it, he had no idea.

Babet let out a fearsome laugh. "What the hell d'ya think you're gonna do with that, boy?"

Grantaire frowned at Babet and smashed the bottle against the slimy, wet wall of the alleyway. It's edges were now jagged and sharp, perfectly capable of giving somebody a nasty wound. He brandished it at Babet.

"I always knew that my drinking would come in handy one day," he said with a smile. He had a chance of getting away and saving Enjolras, but it was a slim chance, a very slim chance; he knew it and so did his opponents. It was three against one (Montparnasse could not partake, for he was still holding Enjolras still).

Babet took a menacing step forward and swung at Grantaire's throat with his knife. Grantaire dodged it, but the knife still nicked his unshaven jaw. He gasped in surprise and wondered what to do. In a moment of unexpected courage, Grantaire hit Babet on the forehead with the murky green bottle. There was sickening crunch before Babet fell to the ground, unconscious but not dead. It was obvious that the others had not expected Grantaire to actually hurt any of them, because they all looked at each other uncertainly. They seemed scared, but they were angry too. They weren't going to let Grantaire get away with what he'd done.

"'Parnasse!" Cried a gravelly female voice from the other end of the alley. "I've been looking for you!"

"Eponine!" Montparnasse replied in surprise, releasing his grasp on Enjolras. Enjolras was free.


	9. Chapter 9

"'Parnasse!" Eponine said once more, striding confidently towards Montparnasse. "My father needs you and your friends. He sent me to fetch you all." She did not once look at Grantaire, although she did allow herself to glance fleetingly at Enjolras' dashing good looks. Grantaire had never seen this girl before, but he felt he owed her the world; if she hadn't spoken when she did, it was likely that he would be dead by now. Of course, there was no promising that he wouldn't be killed shortly.

"What does Thenardier want us for, eh?" Claquesous asked.

"Yeah, and why didn't he come to us himself?" Babet chimed in as he groggily sat up, rubbing his bleeding head. Then he burst into a fit of laughter.

Eponine gave Babet a quizzical look. "What's wrong with him?" she asked, her bushy brows furrowed worriedly.

Grantaire had not gotten a chance to properly look at her, but when she stepped out from the shadows, he felt tears well in his eyes, for her appearance was so utterly heart-breaking. He thought it was a miracle that she hadn't died of starvation already. Her collarbones jutted out, and he was sure her ribs did the same, but they weren't visible beneath her ragged chemise.

"I don't know why he didn't ask you himself. He was probably too lazy. Anyway, all I know is that he's planning a robbery. He sent me to tell you that he wants you guys' help. Says you'll get a good share of the spoils." Eponine nonchalently leaned against the wall and examined her dirty nails.

"Share of the spoils, hm?" Montparnasse said, deep in thought. "I'm in. What about you lot?" The others nodded quickly.

Eponine looked up with a sincere but gruesome smile on her face. "Father will be glad to know that." Her eyes darted to Grantaire and Enjolras. "Here, what are you lot doing with these two?"

"What does it look like? We're robbing them! God 'Ponine, you can be so stupid!" Montparnasse rolled his eyes at Eponine and took a step towards her.

"Stupid? Ha! I know a lot of things, I do!" she protested indignantly. Eponine might have been poor and dirty, but she certainly wasn't about to let anybody call her stupid. Montparnasse just raised an eyebrow at her and turned back to the others.

"Come on boys, let's finished these two off." And without looking at her, he said to Eponine, "We'll be along in a minute."

It seemed that Eponine had other ideas. "Hey! There aint no point robbing these two! I know them!" Grantaire and Enjolras both exchanged puzzled looks. Neither of them had ever seen this girl before. "Well, I mean, I don't _know _them," she clarified, "but I know _of_ them. I've seen them with Marius a few times! They aren't rich, surely you can tell."

"You know Marius?" Enjolras asked in surprise. He knew Marius well, and he didn't think that Marius would be the type to make friends with a girl like this.

"I certainly do! He's my friend." Eponine's face seemed to light up when she spoke of him; the dirt disappeared, her cheeks seemed rounder and rosier, her eyes shone brighter. Then she returned to her normal, drab self.

"Shut up about Marius, the both of you!" Montparnasse cried to Eponine and Enjolras. "Ep, why exactly don't you want us to rob these two? Let me guess, you're in love with one of them?"

"No!" Eponine protested, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "Like I said, I don't really know either of them."

"Fine, it was just a guess. I mean, love is usually the reason you ruin robberies." Montparnasse looked at Eponine pointedly, but she did not look away. She continued to stare at him defiantely.

"My father needs you all, and he needs you now. Whatever spoils he gets will sure as hell be worth more than whatever you get out of these two. I mean, look at them. They're not exactly loaded, are they?"

Montparnasse considered for a moment. He stroked his clean shaven beard in a philosophical manner as he mentally debated. "Hm," he finally said. "You get your way, 'Ponine, but you owe me." He winked at her. Eponine winked back.

"Oh do I now?" she replied before leading Montparnasse and the others out of the alleyway. Just before they turned a corner, Eponine turned back to look at Grantaire and Enjolras. She smiled at them and nodded politely as if to say 'you're welcome', before disappearing into the night.

"Are you alright?" Grantaire cried out fearfully, his eyes brimming with worried tears, as he rushed to the aid of his lover. Enjolras was leaning against the slick, mouldy wall; he was anxious and exhausted, but he was unharmed for the most part. "Oh god." Grantaire enveloped Enjolras in a tight hug, leaning against his chest and sobbing. "I am so glad you are alright." Enjolras caressed Grantaire's cheeks and felt a tear slipping down his marble face.

"Grantaire, you're bleeding," Enjolras said in surprise as he looked at his blood-covered fingers and then to Grantaire's jaw. Enjolras met Grantaire's gaze with absolute fear in his mesmerizing eyes.

"It's just a scratch."

"At least let Joly have a look at it," Enjolras coaxed.

"Later," Grantaire whispered, a faint smile on his lips as he leaned in for a kiss.

"Later," agreed Enjolras when they parted. He leaned in for another kiss.


End file.
